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Rain. Nothing but rain, rain on snow -- on several inches of drifted snow, making the world soggy, causing a churning runoff through the roadside ditch out front. Great sections of the quarry ice have gone a watery gray color. Rainspatter festoons the windows, the bare branches of the hardwoods drip profusely, and the whole white world has a liquid chill.
I hear blue jays in the rain: queedle, queedle. Shoveling the walk proves a daunting task. I throw quarts and gallons of water aside, leaving a slick, treacherous walkway. This I have to apply salt to. And the runoff through the ditch and culvert roils and churns. Toward early afternoon, the rain tapers off a bit, and a fog settles in. The thermometer shows 43 degrees (F). The fog reaches a severe thickness briefly, nearly obscuring the far quarry cliff. It begins drizzling again, though, and the fog lifts. I see a pair of starlings today and a gull or two. Tonight is still and close to freezing. |
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| Bird Report is a discursive daily record of what's outside my high north window in Rockland, Maine, USA (44°07'N latitude, 69°07'W longitude). --Brian Willson | |||||
©1998 by 3IP |